down with pants!

okay, so i was catching up on my blog list today, and thanks to annah over at red means go (http://www.whenredmeansgo.com/) who posted some pantless photos today...

go ahead. i'll wait while you check them out. and follow her, to help her get famosity, or she will eat kittens.

now that i have regained your attention, her blog about being pantless in your own house (which, correct me if i'm wrong, should be a god/s given inalienable right) reminded me about the trying issue of claustrophobic thighs.

this is when you have your pants on, like at work or when you're shopping, or maybe just hanging around the house. and you realize that your thighs are claustrophobic - your pants are all tight and pants-y around your thighs. and your thighs are all agitated and irritated and angry.

like when you are stuck in line behind someone at the grocery store, in the 10 items or less line. and they have like 14 or 15 items. i mean, you can forgive 11 or 12, but they're pushing it. and not only are the in the express line with too many items, but the get all impatient and do that sighing thing that some of us do to let you know we're annoyed with someone. and then they start making comments about how the cashier is slow, or the person paying with a credit card who takes four extra seconds to sign their slip, or gets all huffy when the front end manager comes over with singles for the cashier.

and you get that feeling. it's kind of tingly and tight. like you're a spring that's being more tightly coiled. maybe it's the feeling of having your braces tightened. or really bad gas. i'm not sure. it's an agitated, anxious, angry, abomination of a feeling.

you get through it, and you go home with your less-than-10-items (i know you weren't in that lane against the unspoken rules of the supermarket). you put the groceries away, maybe feed the cat or pour a cup of soda or glass of wine. and you go to sit on the couch, and turn on the game.

and then. your thighs. if you're wearing any pants that are not really comfy and super stretchy, you notice that your jeans or trousers or whatever feel a bit.... snug across the top of your mid-thigh. strange. but then you realize that it's not just the top of your thigh - it's all the way around, like there's an invisible ace bandage being wrapped around it. so you stand up and adjust your pants, like pulling the legs up a bit to give your crotch and thighs more wiggle room. or you adjust your trouser snake addendums if you have them. or you pick the nonexistent wedgie that you think is causing the problem.

and you sit back down. and it's even worse. like if you could scratch the fabric off your thighs, you would, and you might take off a layer of skin or ten while you're at it.

this is claustrophobic thighs: when you feel like you may have to fuck something up if you can't take your pants off. so you have to take your pants off. depending on the level of claustrophobia, you may not be able to put any other pants on in lieu of the jeans or trousers you're already wearing - super stretchy may not cut it. you may need to walk around in your tee shirt and panties for the rest of the night.

and so what if the windows are open and the neighbors can see? who the fuck are they looking in your windows?!? i walk around in my underwear more than i care to admit, due mainly to thigh claustrophobia. awesome husband gives me a strange look sometimes, since the windows and patio doors are open, but i figure that my panties and a tee shirt covers more than my bathing suit does, and i wander around outside drunk in my bathing suit... so fuck that. my thighs are more important.

i just hope the claustrophobia doesn't spread further. it's bad enough i get nervous in elevators and tunnels, especially the last tunnel in the rock 'n roller coaster at disney hollywood studios (i live in almost perpetual fear of being stranded in that tunnel again. our coaster train stopped there once for like two minutes once, and i nearly lost it).

i can't imagine what i would do if i ended up with boob claustrophobia. my mom would never come out of her room again.

smart move or stupid mistake?

hindsight is twenty twenty. i've said it millions of times. i'm not the only one who thinks it, either. it's a very common phrase. and of course, it means when you look back at a situation, you can see it clearly - you can see all facets of it. so you can look back and see every stupid fucking misstep you took, every mistake you made.

if you've been reading my blog, you may remember last week when i came clean about my little nervy b. while my job did not cause my craziness (i may have mentioned that i'm batshit crazy, and have been for some years now) it definitely contributed to my most recent fall from sanity. i can't explain how or why i am crazy, but i am. and i felt like my job was creating just that much more stress in my life.

so i spent three days calling psychiatrist #1. i refused to call any others on the list the therapist gave me. this psych is literally down the road - maybe an 8 or 9 minute drive. i left two messages and just kept calling until i got through on friday morning. the earliest appointment they had was this friday morning. fine - at least i know someone will hand me a fucking prescription within a few days.

so awesome husband had to work on saturday. and somehow my ovaries decided to make me go into full on nesting mode. i caulked a bit. that was fun. and then i figured 'well, the bathroom needs cleaning. i'll do all but the floor, and cut awesome husband's hair when he gets home from work and make him vacuum it'. so i did.

but then. i was in the kitchen and i opened the freezer. it was a bit of a disorganized mess. so i took everything out and reorganized it. and then. i turned around and saw the top of the stove was a bit of a mess - it's a glass top, and it was a bit marked up. hmph. and then. i looked at the microwave, and realized i've seen it cleaner.

about eight hours later, awesome husband came home while i was just finishing up cleaning the bar (no, not that kind of bar - like the 'bar' part of my counter where some people would eat, and we store shit in piles).

well. i tried running the self clean thingy on the oven, and it got a bit smoky in the house - so i shut it off. but i still scrubbed the hell out of the oven racks with brillo. and i cleaned the microwave - even took out those creepy metal filters on the bottom, and tried to take out the charcoal one (but broke a tab... oops). and i scrubbed the sink and the dish drain and took apart the faucet and cleaned that. and i scrubbed the counters and the top of the fridge and the stovetop. and i swept. not just the kitchen, but the living room. this is a big deal because i do not do floors or windows. and then i cut awesome husband's hair and made him vacuum the bathroom.

but i ruined my manicure. on the bright side, i got stuff done and kept myself occupied....

...and didn't think about quitting my job. so when yesterday afternoon rolled around (after making my first quiche, which was delectable), i was looking at either quitting or going back to work today.

i think it's obvious i don't WANT to work. who does, really? you want the paycheck, and if you're lucky you like or enjoy your job. but i felt like i could no longer emotionally commit to something like that, especially something that i was starting to not enjoy bordering on hate. but i'm 30 years old. i'm a wife and cat-mom. i have a family to take care of (albeit a strange family of myself, awesome husband, mom, and three cats). and i cannot provide or contribute financially at all. and that hurts. it really does. i'm happy to clean (well... not happy, as such. but i'll do it eventually) and do the food shopping, and prepare all the food, and i guess i could even start doing the dishes ALL the time if i wanted to (but mom usually beats me to it anyway). so i may RUN the household, but does that count as contributing?

i asked awesome husband what he thought i should do. ever supportive, he says he'd support whatever decision i made. and i was like, yah, you will, but WHAT SHOULD I DO?!?

he looked at me and said, 'do you know, this week that you've not worked, you haven't texted me once begging me to come home early?' i would always ask him to come home if i was having a really rough time. i'd been asking him to come home early 4 out of every 5 days.

and last week, with my sewing and some reading, a bit of cleaning, swimming, and napping with the cats, i didn't feel like i needed him to save my from myself every day.

so there was my answer. i wrote an email to my mentor or direct superior, i suppose you'd say. then i went and terminated my contract. and i felt a bit more free, a bit less trapped.

i woke up this morning the same time awesome husband left for work. i got up, reheated some quiche, and got to work on a new design. i spent all day on it, until about 5:30, and then awesome husband came home. we took showers, i made dinner, and we watched the mets game. and now, here i am, in bed, awesome husband snoring beside me and another day of working for myself ahead of me.

hindsight is twenty twenty. as freeing as it was, my first thought was that quitting my job was a stupid mistake. but now, i may be reconsidering that idea.